


forget-me-(k)not

by marblecats (kitthefox)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Feels, Light Angst, M/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 11:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30122130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitthefox/pseuds/marblecats
Summary: On a visit to Berlin in 2000 and something, Richard asks for help. Till helps.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	forget-me-(k)not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GwendolenFairfax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolenFairfax/gifts).



> For Gwen - for providing me with the idea, pointing me towards the "research" materials and for being my favourite enabling menace <3

It's started to rain again.

Till stands mutely by the window and watches it splash into puddles and bounce up from the pavement. He hasn't said anything for a while, allowing himself a few necessary minutes to gather his thoughts. It feels important to take his time, to consider his options and to come to a decision. He breathes out and watches the fog collect on the glass before it fades away slowly along with his hesitance. 

He turns away from the rain to face the darkness of the room. Richard is still standing there, watching him, waiting for him, Till has no doubt that he would wait for him all night. 

"Ask me again." Till demands, his voice at once soft and full of steel. 

"Why, what difference does it make?" Richard asks him, sounding pained and defensive. He sounds like a wild and wounded creature, something Till would be likely to take in and take care of. 

Like he did such a long time ago now.

Till grits his teeth and takes a step closer, allowing his eyes time to adjust. Taking in Richard's face, his furrowed brow and narrow eyes, the sharp pinch of his mouth and the lovely, strong line of his jaw tilted upwards. 

He is defiance personified.

"Ask me again." Till demands once more, tilting his head to the side and waiting. Richard isn't the only one with the patience (or is it stubbornness?) to wait all night. 

The frustration is evident from the set of Richard's shoulders and the wordless growl that spills from his lips. Till forces himself not to smile, and instead remains very still and impassive, folds his hands behind his back. 

Richard growls again, wild indeed. "Why are you doing this?" He asks. It's the wrong question. Till shakes his head. 

Another step closer to Richard and he notices the tension in his muscles is such that he's almost shaking from it. One step more and Richard unfolds himself to flinch, Till halts immediately.

"I need to be sure." Till says, more softness than steel now. "I need to know why you're in my home in the middle of the night, asking me for _that._ "

Some of the tension bleeds from Richard's posture, some not all, and he still looks tightly wound and ready to snap. "Because." He rasps in a hoarse voice. "I need you."

Till shakes his head. "That isn't enough." (Till wishes it were enough.)

"Why not?" Richard snaps, baring his teeth and flipping damp hair from his eyes. "You know what, fuck this." 

He is most of the way to the front door before Till decides to act. "Stop." He commands, so simple and yet so effective in the way Richard's body shudders to a halt. Perhaps it's cheating, but it works and that's what matters. 

"Turn around and come here." He croons his next commands in a voice he hasn’t used for a long time and Richard still obeys him so very beautifully. His legs stiffly carry him to stand in front of Till, clouded eyes downcast and sharp teeth worrying his lower lip. Till tilts his head up with a gentle hand under his chin. "Why now? You haven't needed me for years."

Richard looks at him through dark eyelashes and whispers in devastating fashion. "Nothing has ever been further from the truth." 

Till kisses him, short and firm. Richard clings to it like a drowning man and whimpers when it ends. 

"Please, Till." 

Till brushes his hair back tenderly, watching with fascination as his eyes flutter closed. His eye lashes cast shadows on his pale skin, so pale that the bruising under his eyes is livid even in the low lighting. Till brings his hands down to cup his cheeks and brushes at them with his thumbs, in some foolish and vain hope that he can sweep them away. He's unsuccessful of course but it does cement something in place in his mind. 

"Alright, _liebling,_ tell me what you need." 

Richard's eyes snap open again, the faintest touch of surprise colouring his wide-eyed stare. His fingers curl around Till's wrists for stability or perhaps to prove to himself that this is real, Till doesn't know. 

"I want…" He pauses and closes his eyes again, Till allows him time to gather his thoughts. It is very important after all. "I'm just so tired, Till." He says it so very quietly and the walls that Till has so very carefully built around his heart begin to shake. They never did have the strongest of foundations. 

"What's got you so tired?" Till asks him, his gaze flickering towards Richard's nose before he can stop himself. That particular worry has been ever present over the past few months. Richard notices, of course he does, but he doesn't react apart from to squeeze Till's wrists. 

"I'm still clean, but it's hard." He tells him with the pleading look back in his eyes and Till has never really been able to refuse Richard anything. There is more to discuss however.

"What do you want to do? Be specific." Till asks, Richard's eyes narrow as he considers the question.

"I want you to tie me." He replies slowly, after some thought. "And then I want you to fuck me." His voice begins to tremble on his second request. Till nods, ignoring his blood heading south in a hot rush. That always was what Richard liked best.

"Come with me." He says in a low, steady voice. "Do not say anything unless I tell you that you can. Nod if you understand." 

Richard nods slowly and drops his hands from Till's wrists. Till lets go of his face in turn and takes his hand, leading him to the bedroom in silence. Richard follows him with no resistance though Till does feel him squeeze his hand once. He takes it to be confirmation of Richard handing control of himself over and he has to will himself not to stumble from the weight of it. 

"Strip." Till commands as soon as the bedroom door shuts softly behind them. He drops Richard's hand and turns to face him, waiting for him to move. As an afterthought he sits himself on the edge of his bed and rests his forearms on his thighs, hands folded in front of him, still waiting. 

Richard removes his clothing slowly, layer by layer. Off comes the well worn hoodie, pulled over his head and dropped to the floor with little care. The tshirt follows, Till's eyes tracking the movement in Richard's muscles. He isn't as bulky as he used to be before, but he also isn't as sunken in, his bones aren't as sharp. That's good at least. 

Richard glances up at him as his fingers push under the waistband of his sweatpants, he seems to consider something then readjusts his hands and pushes the sweatpants and his underwear down in one go. When he bends to tug them off his ankles along with his socks, arousal flutters into life in Till's gut at the sight. He fights it back, this is about Richard, not him. 

"Come." He instructs, spreading his legs and nodding to the floor at his feet. Richard's legs carry him forwards a little awkwardly but when he kneels gracefully, an aura of calm seems to wash over him. His shoulders drop and his jaw softens, he keeps his gaze lowered, looking at the floor. When Till tilts his head up with two fingers under his chin, there is a calmness to his eyes that wasn't there previously. 

"Do you remember how this goes? You can speak." 

Richard's tongue darts out to wet his lips before he answers simply. "Yes.

Till holds his chin a little tighter. "Tell me."

A hitched breath, a beat. "Obey your commands, say stop if it gets too much." He pauses, Till wonders if perhaps he's having second thoughts, but then he continues. "You'll hurt me if I disobey." 

"Good boy." Till lets go of his jaw in order to stroke through his scruffy hair, very unlike Richard, but he leans into it. Till allows it for a few seconds before speaking again. "You will stay, put your hands behind your back." 

Richard opens his mouth as though to speak but Till stops him with a look, wordlessly reminding him of his role in this game. He drops his gaze and crosses his wrists behind his back, shuffling a little on his knees to stay comfortable. 

"Good. Now stay put." He rises to his feet and gives Richard's hair one last ruffle. "I need to get some things, I won't be long." 

He's across the room in four or five strides, pulling open his wardrobe and rummaging for the box at the back that he hasn't thought about in some time. He opens the lid and lifts some lengths of red and black rope out with gentle hands. It was foolish of him really to have bought them specifically with Richard in mind at a time when they were strictly _just friends._ Although he isn't sure they ever really managed to be _just_ anything, miserable perhaps, if Richard's earlier admission is anything to go by. 

With a soft sigh, he closes the box lid and the wardrobe door, placing the coils of rope on the bed. A glance across at Richard and he sees him still kneeling with his head bowed, dark strands of his hair falling forwards over his forehead, he's so beautiful. Till breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, needing to steady himself and calm the nerves that have settled low in his stomach. 

Rounding the bed again, he takes up his earlier position of sitting with his legs either side of Richard's kneeling form, this time with the rope across his thighs where Richard can see it. He wonders if he approves of his choices. Slowly and deliberately he rolls up the sleeves of the shirt he's wearing and undoes his uppermost button. He spots Richard sneaking a glance upwards, watching the movement of Till's arms through his eyelashes.

"Look at me." He decides that he may as well have Richard's full attention on him. "Sit back on your heels." When Richard does so with a questioning look, Till plucks a pillow from his bed and puts it on the floor. "For your knees, I intend to take my time." He keeps his voice low and it sends a visible shiver through Richard's body. 

"Kneel." He instructs, "and give me your right hand."

-

The rain beats against the bedroom window rhythmically. Till has always enjoyed the sound of rain, always found it to be soothing on nights when his imagination was not his friend. When they were younger, back in Schwerin where Richard would share his bed on a regular basis, his nightmares were much less frequent. They were, dare he say it, _happy._ Life, he often finds, has a way of stamping out happiness.

Winding the rope around Richard's wrist and hand is soothing too, over and under, making the cuff look as pretty as the man wearing it. His eyes are transfixed by the sure movements of Till's fingers, though his body seems more relaxed now than it has been all evening. Till has already decided he isn't going to put him through too much, it's been too long for both of them for anything too intense, but he has a vision and he intends to see it through. 

"Other hand." Till tells him, keeping a tight hold on the tail end of the rope around his right wrist. He doesn't think Richard will misbehave but it won't hurt to be sure. It makes tying the left cuff a little trickier, but he works through it patiently. He wants it to be right, Richard deserves his best work after all. 

When both cuffs are tied and meet Till's exacting standards, he stands, pulling the tails of the rope and in turn Richard's arms up. His muscles stretch under his skin, and he looks up at Till as they go. His expression is so open and trusting that Till almost forgets himself. It's been so long since Richard fully gave in to him like this, it steals his breath away. 

Keeping his arms in place, Till steps around Richard and takes a moment to admire the expanse of his back, the planes of his shoulders and the lovely curve of his spine. "Very good." He murmurs, kneeling and bringing Richard's hands down with him. "Cross your arms behind your back." 

He allows him enough slack to put his arms into position and then ties him in place with the remaining length of the rope. His shoulder blades pull closer together as Till tightens the knots, his breathing becomes a little heavier. Till checks his work methodically, carefully ensuring he can get his fingers between the ropes and Richard's skin at each tie. When he's satisfied, he returns to his spot on the bed and looks down at Richard, kneeling before him so very prettily. His chest and shoulders pulled tight by the ropes around his forearms and wrists.

Till doesn't ask him if he's okay, he trusts Richard to know his limits and to stop him if he needs to. He is not above praise however. "Look at you." He purrs appreciatively. "So beautiful." 

The blush that spreads across Richard's face is really very pretty indeed and Till smiles, pleased to have had such an effect. 

The atmosphere in the room settles to something calm and warm, and full of the one thing that has never lacked between them. _Trust._ Till never stopped trusting Richard, even when everything seemed poised to fall apart, even when it felt like everyone had turned against him by association. He trusts Richard with his life. His best friend, to give it a childish name. His soulmate, to give it the name he wants to give it. 

He always believed (or rather hoped, _desperately_ ) that Richard trusted him in kind. Taking Richard's side was never in doubt, he didn't even have to think about it, and even at his highest and then again at his lowest Richard always looked for him. Having Richard seeking him out here, now, when he needs help settles heavily but not unpleasantly so in Till's chest. 

He twists another piece of rope around his hands, breathes out and loops it around Richard's chest and upper arms. His head is bowed again, looking down at his pale thighs. 

"Look up at me." Till instructs softly, waiting for him to do so before carefully laying the rope around the back of his neck. Richard inhales sharply through his nose, he doesn't say to stop, but there is nervousness written plainly on his face.

"This cinch here." Till explains carefully, whilst pulling the ends of the rope over and through. "It can't go anywhere, it won't choke you." He demonstrates by tugging the rope, Richard's head twitches, but the knot doesn't move. "I would never put you in danger, Richard." Till ghosts a hand over his trembling chest, hoping to calm him before he continues. A tiny whimper spills from Richard's lips.

"Careful, sweetheart." Till admonishes in a stern tone, giving the rope another tug. "No more noise from you." 

The ghost of defiance turning the blue of his eyes to steel would be a joyous thing on any other day, Till does so like his rebellious streak, but not today. He doesn't actually want to punish him and so he stares him down until the moment he breaks and drops his gaze once more. Till quietly resumes his work, stopping only to check in with Richard regarding the tightness of the bonds around his chest. His biceps strain against the rope holding them to his ribcage and Till takes a moment to sit back and just admire him. 

He is so very beautiful and Till has always been drawn to beautiful (and dangerous) things.

-

It stopped raining a while ago, the only noise in the sanctuary of Till's bedroom is Richard's breathing, made heavy with anticipation. Till has given him a minute and is sitting back on his bed, just watching.

Thick lines of black and red twist across his chest, arms and stomach, striking against the alabaster of his skin. If Till were a different kind of artist he would paint him like this, done up in white and black and red. He doesn't even know if he has words to do Richard justice, rather he fancies that there are not words in the world that could do Richard justice. Not like this. 

Till reaches out and strokes a hand through his hair, the ends of it damp still from the rain. It falls through his fingers like silk and when he grips it just slightly, Richard's whole body turns taut, like a string tuned just this side of too far. He still doesn't make a sound though and Till feels the faintest stirrings of pride that his livewire is doing so well, but he can't reward him yet. 

He remembers a long time ago, the first time they did anything like this. Richard had lain next to him in his old bed in his old home, quiet one second, screaming the next. A nightmare borne from the horrors he had gone through, cruelly reminding him of it all in the dead of night. Till had been helpless apart from to hold him tightly and do his best to soothe him with whispered devotion and gentle kisses. 

Richard had tackled it in his own way, asking to be held captive on his own terms. It had been crude then, garden twine around his wrists that left red welts. But Richard had been good, so good, and screamed for an entirely different reason as soon as Till had given him permission to do so. 

Till shifts in place, the memory warming him in all the right ways.

"Richard." He breaks his own rule. “You good?” He doesn’t necessarily mean just with this particular here and now but if that’s how Richard wants to interpret it, that would be fine too. 

Richard looks at him, his gaze a little distant and the blue of his eyes reminding Till of the horizon and of the ocean and the sky in springtime. His shoulders shift against the rope, and he shuffles his knees just slightly before affirming with a single nod that yes, he is good. Till strokes an index finger over the red around his neck and smiles softly. 

Till wonders what to do with him, how to pass the time between now and when he can unravel him in more ways than one. His eyes fall on the dog eared novel on the bedside table. Quite by chance it’s one that he knows Richard is a fan of, some sprawling gothic thing that he had insisted Till read. Indeed when Till picks it up and begins to quietly read aloud from it’s pages, Richard’s eyes dart up in recognition, the barest hint of a smile gracing his features. 

“Eyes down, darling. I won’t tell you again.” Till pauses his reading to tug lightly on the loop under Richard’s chin. True to his word, it doesn’t tighten but it’s enough of a warning that Richard swallows and averts his eyes downwards. Till strokes his cheek just the once, choosing to ignore the way Richard leans into his touch.

And Till reads. And reads. And gets through two chapters before Richard starts to shift. He makes it through another one before Richard’s mouth drops open and he licks and bites at his lips. And he makes it through another page after that before Richard looks up at him, eyes dark and wet and pleading. Till closes the book, carefully puts it back on his nightstand and gets to his feet. The way he’s tied Richard’s upper body has left him a handle between his shoulder blades and Till wraps his fingers around it, his knuckles dragging through the sheen of sweat on Richard’s skin. 

“Up.” He instructs and allows Richard the space to get up on shaky legs. Till’s hold on him prevents him from buckling and tumbling and Till tries not to think too deeply about that as he helps him onto the bed. 

“I should have got you ready first.” Till muses, guiding Richard into position on his knees. He almost laughs at the way Richard’s thighs tense at his words, anticipation is always so sweet, he finds. After a moment’s quiet consideration, he unties Richard’s hands from the braided knots at his back, and does laugh when he gets a disgruntled huff. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting you go just yet.” He pushes Richard down and flips him over, leaving him on his back, and hooks the rope around the slats of his headboard. Pulling it tight again, he knots the ropes back around Richard’s hands and wrists, anchoring him to the bed. “How’s that?” Till asks. Richard nods eagerly and doesn’t quite stop himself from straining upwards for a kiss when Till leans over to check his work. 

Till would kiss him, would ask him to open up with a gentle tongue and would reacquaint himself with the taste of his mouth and the feel of his lips (oh how he would) but that isn’t how this goes. He drops his hands and presses warning fingertips into the undersides of pale thighs. 

“Know your place, love.” He says darkly, despite the endearment and almost instantly Richard’s expression is open and contrite. Till accepts it for the apology it is but he chooses to ignore his mouth for now and lays kisses where his fingers have just been until Richard is squirming and twitching and begging with the huffing of his breath. 

From there Till takes him apart with his fingers and his tongue, pressing and pressing and drawing trembling sighs from bitten lips. He strips where Richard can see him, tossing his clothes to the side with little care for where they land. The care comes when he enters him, slowly and deliberately, inch by inch until he’s all the way in and Richard’s eyes are screwed shut against the sensation. 

Till gives him a minute to adjust and calm down. Whilst his eyes are still shut he kisses him, long and slow, and he starts to move, still chasing his taste and the feel of his lips. He has to remind himself that this is about Richard however and sets about taking care of him the way he had begged for just a few hours ago. Going slow and languorous, all the way in and all the way out and back again, finding the part of him that makes his eyes fly open and a gasp catch in his throat which each inward thrust.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore, Richard.” Till tells him, open mouthed and breathless against the skin of his neck. He was expecting a moan, perhaps a whimper, but what he gets is a breathy gasp of his own name dripping with a feeling that Till has always known was there, but had been too afraid to examine too closely. He had feared getting burned, he had feared heartbreak and desperate clawing hurt. 

Richard, this is about Richard, he reminds himself again. And so he concentrates but still loses himself to the heady oblivion of Richard’s taste and smell and desperate crying moans. 

(Everything has always been about Richard.)

Later when Till unwraps the coils of rope and admires the imprints left on Richard’s skin, he leans in and licks at the salt sheen on the side of his neck. Richard wriggles half-heartedly in protest but he tilts his head and smiles tiredly, the picture of sated bliss. Till hopes he got what he wanted (or needed) out of all of this, if nothing else.

As Till gently cleans his trembling body with a warm, damp towel fetched dutifully from the bathroom he suspects they have much to talk about still. One glance at Richard’s face tells him that there will be plenty of time tomorrow for such things. His eyes are barely half open, but the blue in them is clearer than it has been all evening for which Till is quietly pleased.

“Sleep now.” He instructs, using that voice just one last time, expecting no arguments but accepting the way Richard curls against him. His arms go around his reddened shoulders. 

“You’re okay now, I’ve got you.”

He looks over the gentle rise and fall of Richard's chest and out of the window. 

It's started to rain again.


End file.
